


Gifts

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: LAOFT Extras [100]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Agender Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Heart Defects, M/M, Non-sexual partial nudity, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Vague references to past trauma, Virgil wears a dress, but keep in mind its 19-0-whatever so pretty much fully clothed still, chapter 2 hurts way more than chapter one but it works out, confused but well meaning cis people, mentions of child death, non-graphic childbirth, that last character tag is mostly a joke but she is in it, this wasnt supposed to be a plus 1 fic but who am i to deny myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23344060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: A series of gifts, from Virgil, to people he loves.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Original Female Character(s), Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & The Dragon Witch, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton
Series: LAOFT Extras [100]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1365505
Comments: 118
Kudos: 607





	1. Greta

**Author's Note:**

> For these prompts:
> 
> "(adding a prompt to the love language ask) Could we see Virgil giving people their charms and planks? Or other gifts? Like he tried to give Greta who almost always refused to take them and yeah it went horribly wrong in the one time she didn’t, but he still wants to give the people he cares about gifts and the snaky bastard isn’t around anymore so ahhhh" (from an anon on tumblr)
> 
> "prompt: greta’s wedding? or maybe virgil finding out she had been proposed to?" (from @hypocrite-say-what)
> 
> "prompt: Virgil seeing Tobias faint when he sees Greta in a wedding dress" (from @trivia-goddess)
> 
> "Virgil making the wedding dress so Greta gets a nice dress, perhaps?" (From an anon)
> 
> Adelheid Baumgartener’s familiar is a [beech marten](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beech_marten) named Sascha, who uses he/it pronouns
> 
> Weaving [bobbin lace](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64Dj1dDR6tw) is a very good ASMR topic, if you’re into that kind of thing
> 
> [Here](https://www.osfcostumerentals.org/ItemDetail/09010978/20th-century-gown-1900-1909-women-b34-w28-gold-embroidery-attached-shaped-bilet-embroidered-on-netting-layer-over-gold-silk-charmeuse-good-silk-1905) is general idea of the way the dress looks, though obviously in silver-tones instead of gold
> 
> Greta is ever-so-slightly exaggerating about the corset - they weren’t quite as deathly uncomfortable as pop culture would lead you to believe. However, the straight-fronted corset, or [Edwardian corset](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_corsets#The_Edwardian_corset), which was popular in the early 20th century, was poorly designed enough that it contributed to a number of back problems and offered little real support, especially for stockier women like Greta. So it’s about the same as a modern woman complaining about a fancy but very poorly fitting bra.
> 
> A [general idea](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajkVjnf4WPk) of the hair
> 
> [“Hair-sewing”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9yPwVwSwvAI) is a hairstyling technique from the Roman era where, in lieu of pins or other clasps, the hair is woven/”sewn” to itself (not the skin lol) with thread and a special (blunt) wooden tool - but you can just use your fingers if you’re careful.
> 
> The song Greta sings in the final section is [“Charlotte the Harlot”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjwaXz4QOig) ([lyrics](https://www.ibiblio.org/bawdy/ballads/charlotte.html)) and, as you may be able to guess from the title and first line, is WILDLY inappropriate for a wedding, and indeed probably wouldn’t successfully make it past the censors in a rated R movie – please click the links at your own discretion.
> 
> Thank you to [@trivia-goddess](trivia-goddess.tumblr.com) for beta-reading! also i have a lot of The Nerves about the prequel installments and you always make me feel about 500% better about them

Virgil was pretty sure Ritter was incapable of being quiet.

He could be _surprising,_ sure – at once much friendlier and _much_ less polite than a hunting grim, the only other kind of dog Virgil had even a passing familiarity with. But quiet? Definitely not. Virgil could _literally_ hear him coming from several leagues away, every time.

“Don’t,” Virgil warned.

Ritter, of course, ignored him.

Could Virgil have stayed standing in the face of being tackled by seventy pounds of over-enthusiastic canine? Probably.

Did he bother at this point? No.

“Get- get _off,_ you _mutt-_ the licking! Enough with the licking!”

Barking in excitement, Ritter jumped several times, his front paws jabbing painfully into Virgil’s stomach. Virgil pushed the dog’s head away with his hand, just in time for the matching witch to stumble into his clearing.

“Are you gonna control your shrieking familiar?” he called over Ritter’s unceasing noise.

Apparently not – because Greta just started shrieking too.

Virgil sat bolt upright, but she clearly wasn’t upset – grinning and her hands fluttering restlessly, clearly excited beyond words.

“Uh, Greta?”

Darting toward him – always shockingly fast for a human – she grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet, jumping in place and still screaming, Ritter a bounding, howling brown blur around them.

Virgil was still baffled, but their excitement was too infectious to resist, and he was laughing before he could stop himself, bouncing his hands a little along with her.

“Do I get to know the news?”

A particularly enthusiastic shout, directly in his face, was his answer.

Rolling his eyes with a fond sigh, Virgil pulled her forward, tapping at her feet with his own to set them in motion. 

Breathing steadily, Virgil thought of the way his heart rate lowered in cold water, soft silk and deep, slow-creeping frost. Greta went easy, trusting, her head dipping slightly and her squeals tapering off into giggles even as the smile didn’t dim at all.

“There,” said Virgil, pointed and teasing, “Are we going to use words now?”

She grinned up at him, squeezing his hands and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“ _Bruderspinne!”_ she exclaimed, “I’m getting _married!”_

Virgil smile dropped.

“You’re getting _what?_ ”

“ _Married!”_ she shouted, “Actually really _married!_ ”

“To _Toby?”_

“Of course to _Toby,_ pinhead, who else!?” she laughed.

“He looks like a broom that someone turned upside down!”

Greta punched him in the chest.

“He does not!”

“With the _hair-_ ”

“Toby hasn’t had that haircut in two years, you ass with ears-”

“Alright, _fine,_ but- _Tobias?”_ Virgil whined, “Really?”

Greta rolled her eyes, letting out a long sigh.

“Can you give me one actual reason – one _singular,_ solitary reason, _Bruderspinne –_ that you don’t like Toby?”

The issue, of course, being that Toby had never done – well, anything, to Virgil or Greta, to warrant any kind of ire (aside from make cow-eyes at Virgil’s sister, which was not _actually_ an offense no matter how much it made Virgil want to stab him a little), and certainly nothing that would make Virgil even _suspect_ he’d make an unsuitable husband.

Obviously. If he had, he’d be dead.

“See! You can’t!”

Virgil stuck his tongue out at her, petulant.

“You’re just picking on me,” she sang, “And it’s not going to work! You cannot _possibly_ ruin my good mood right now,”

She let go of Virgil’s hands and flopped down to the ground, laying on her back. Draping himself over her chest, Ritter looked up at Virgil with big, liquid brown eyes, his tail wagging so fast it was like a drum being played.

Huffing, Virgil dropped to the ground beside them.

Greta just continued her soppy staring into the sky, quiet for a long while.

“… Do you _really_ think he’ll faint like you said?” she giggled.

“I’ll be genuinely _shocked_ if he doesn’t,” said Virgil dryly.

She laughed again, and then the laugh turned a little strangled, and when Virgil turned to look at her he sat bolt upright.

“ _Grettie?_ ”

“Oh, shut up,” she croaked, punching him again with one hand while she wiped her tears with the other, “Don’t you dare laugh at me, I will plant peppermint _everywhere_ , do not test me-”

Virgil was not anywhere in the _vicinity_ of laughter, and was in fact squarely in _panic,_ because crying meant _sad_ and _sad Greta_ was _utterly unacceptable._

“Do you need me to kill him?” said Virgil.

“No, you idiot,” she laughed wetly, “Don’t kill anyone, you’re exhausting,”

Virgil gave her a dubious look.

“I’m just- feeling a lot of things all at once. It got a little overwhelming,”

She waved her hand vaguely.

“Lay back down you worrywart, I’m fine,”

Virgil narrowed his eyes at her.

She smiled at him, rolling her eyes.

“How about this – I _promise_ I’m fine,”

Virgil flinched like she’d struck him.

“ _Margareta,_ ”

“Oh, calm down, _Bruderspinne_ ,” she laughed, “If there’s one fae in the whole forest I’m _completely_ calm about promising things it’s _you,_ you softie,”

Virgil stared at her.

“Would you lay _down_ , you’re _looming,”_ she muttered, yanking on his sleeve.

Slowly, Virgil complied, looking up at the sky through the trees. Ritter moved so he was a warm weight between them, touching them both, and Virgil dug his fingers into the thick, soft fur of his back.

“Wanna make a bet?” blurted Virgil.

Greta turned at him with an eyebrow raised.

“… What sort of bet?”

“That he faints,” said Virgil.

Greta smiled, bemused.

“Well, I love Toby, but I’m afraid I don’t quite have enough faith to make that bet,”

Virgil grinned.

“Good call,” he said.

Especially if Virgil had anything to do with it.

—

Virgil occasionally had very brief moments where he idly wondered what it might be like to have a few more limbs like his sisters.

And this would have been much, _much_ easier if he did, or if he’d enlisted their help. Faster, too, than it was going with only two hands and surrounded by baskets of wooden bobbins and silver pins.

And he was _hungry,_ constantly – lace took up so much more silk than normal webs, and then the quantity _of_ lace he needed – not even mentioning the actual _fabric._

But… for some reason, Virgil had just wanted to make the whole thing. Not _just_ the lace, not just the fabric, not just part of it and getting most of the silk from his sisters – the whole dress.

It had been _exceptionally_ hard to keep his mouth shut about it, especially when he was – well, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been so excited about a project. Virgil mostly made his own clothes (and he’d made- he’d made clothes for others but it had been… a long time), but there, the embellishments had been idle. The process, the creating itself, had been the part he’d focused on, not the end result.

_Almost finished-_

_Almost done, so pretty-_

_Lovely, lovely!_

_The other way, the angle-_

“Nope,” Virgil cut her off, “Absolutely not, do _not_ start over-the-shoulder weaving at me again,”

_The gap-_

_There is a gap-_

“I _know_ there’s a gap; I have another swatch of lace that goes there,” he said, exasperated, “I’m a century older than you, do you _really_ think you know more about this than me?”

A petulant silence was his answer.

They mostly stayed quiet after that, idly crawling over his shoulders and arms, into his hair to watch him pin and poke and adjust each bit of ornament, each piece of lace and beading and embroidery as precise as he could possibly manage.

When he was satisfied with the swatch, he turned, reaching for the last one in the basket. His sisters all stilled, practically frozen as he adjusted it and carefully stitched it into place on the panel of silk.

Virgil let his hands drop to rest lightly on the skirt, and there was a long silence.

“Well?” he croaked, “You wouldn’t shut up before, and now you have nothing to say?”

Another frozen moment, and one of them broke away suddenly, skittering down his arm to his hand and crawling to place one leg against the dress.

_Beautiful._

Virgil gave her a watery smile.

“Thanks,” he said thickly.

Well. It was done – he didn’t _want_ it to be done, because it was a gift, and a gift that was done meant a gift that needed _giving,_ and it had been…

It had been a very long time since Virgil had given someone a gift.

But there was nothing for him to fiddle with any longer – any adjusting would make it worse, not better, which meant he had to do it now or he’d just work himself up into a state about it for who knows how long.

Carefully, he removed the dress from the mannequin, folding it along with the sheer veil and wrapping it in a cloak.

He hardly ever used this room, much preferring to sleep outside well away from other Gentry, but it had been a convenient place to hide what he was doing from Greta. Fortunately, he didn’t come across anyone else on his way out of the hill, or as he picked his way through the forest to Greta’s house as a pace that was practically glacial, for him.

_Un_ -fortunately, his usual plan of bypassing the front door of Greta’s house in favor of the window failed, because he _did_ come across someone in the yard – Adelheid.

On her shoulder, Sascha chittered angrily, and Adelheid’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing in Virgil’s direction.

“Good afternoon, _Herr Spinne,_ ” she said, in a voice that sounded like she thought it was anything but good.

Adelheid was not subtle in her opinion of Virgil – half the time he felt like she was _looking_ for reasons to hex him. He could count on one hand the times she’d seen him and _hadn’t_ scowled, and he was honestly surprised she’d deigned to call him “Mr. Spider” - usually she just addressed him as “troublemaker” or “hey, you.”  
She seemed to think Virgil was solely responsible for Greta’s delinquency, and Virgil figured informing her that he’d mostly been perfectly content minding his own damn business before Greta showed up probably wouldn’t go over well.

“Good afternoon, _Frau Baumgartener,_ ” he said, as polite as he could manage, “Is Greta home?”

“Why?” she demanded, eyes narrowed, “You had better not be about to drag her off into the woods, we are planning a _wedding,_ you know-”

“I know,” said Virgil patiently, “I’m not,”

She narrowed her eyes.

“She’s in her room,” she said, sniffing disdainfully, “You will use the front door, and not break in the window like a common thief, _Herr Spinne,_ ”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Virgil, carefully _not_ rolling his eyes.

Greta was humming as Virgil approached her door, so everything was business as usual. She pretty much hadn’t _stopped_ humming in the past few months since she’d wheeled shrieking into his clearing announcing her engagement.

Looking up when he knocked lightly on the door frame, Greta waved brightly.

“Hello,” she said, waving her pen, “Somehow I don’t think you’re here to help me address invitations,”

“Why do you need invitations?” said Virgil incredulously, “There’re a hundred people in this town at the most and more than half of them are terrified of you. Anyone who’s coming already _knows,_ ”

“Hell if I know,” said Greta, shrugging, “I know better than to argue with _Mutti,_ though,”

She caught sight of the bundle in his hands.

“What’s that?” she said curiously.

Virgil blew out a long breath.

“… I’ve made you something,” he said quietly.

Greta’s expression froze for several seconds.

“You- you what?”

Virgil didn’t think he could repeat it, his stomach twisting with nerves. He moved over to the bed and unfolded the cloak with quick and jerking movements, laying the dress on top of her covers and not looking back at her even as he heard her slowly come closer.

He spread it flat, fiddling idly with the sleeve.

“I made- uh, this. For you,”

Neither of them spoke (twenty seconds, then thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, Virgil was _losing his mind-_ ).

“… What?” Greta repeated, clearly flabbergasted.

Virgil fiddled with the hem of his own sleeve.

“You- you’re my best friend,” he said weakly, “So- so, this,”

It was ineloquent, and not nearly enough, not even close, but Virgil sort of felt like he was going to start crying if Greta didn’t say _something,_ so it was as much as he could handle, at the moment.

Greta was standing beside him now, and she reached out to just barely brush her fingertips against the sleeve before jerking her hand back like she’d been scalded.

“ _Bruderspinne,_ did you _make_ this?” she said, strangled.

“… Yeah,” he croaked.

Greta visibly swallowed.

“I don’t- I don’t understand,” said Greta, just a touch of hysteria in her voice, “You’ve- you’ve never done something like this-”

He winced.

“-And you don’t even _like_ Toby, I don’t- why would you-?”

“You’re my _friend,_ ” Virgil repeated, “And I- I _should_ have, a long time ago, but I was…”

He shrugged.

“Nervous, I guess,”

He finally managed to look at her, and she was already watching him, intent and almost suspicious. For the first time in years, Virgil truly didn’t have any idea what she was thinking. She let out a shuddering breath.

“Thank you,” she said finally. Virgil’s shoulders slumped in relief, even as something panicky and tense in the back of his mind pointed out that Greta looked kind of terrified even as she started smiling at him.

“You like it?” he blurted.

The smile softened.

“Yes,” she said, “It’s- it’s lovely, _Bruderspinne,_ ”

She rubbed the hem of the sleeve between her fingers.

“Honestly, it’s… well, it’s probably the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen,”

Virgil tried not to preen too obviously.

“And… I suppose it’s a, um. Special occasion,” she said, “So a gift- a gift makes sense,”

She sounded almost like she was _justifying_ it, which brought a slight frown to Virgil’s face – but then she dropped the sleeve and spun, latching her arms around his middle and hiding her face, and Virgil couldn’t help but squeeze her back.

“Well,” she said after a minute or two, “I suppose it’s time to see if it fits,”

Virgil scoffed.

“Oh, please,” said Virgil, “Of course it’ll fit. What do I look like, a mortal tailor?”

“What, did you measure me while I was sleeping or something?”

“I have _eyes_ , I know what size you are-”

Virgil was almost offended at her surprise when the dress did fit – _obviously_ – but when she spun and let the skirt twirl with her, almost all the worry melted from her face, and Virgil couldn’t bring himself to pick on her.

—

Mortals were odd creatures. Virgil had thought them simple and easy to trick before he’d met Greta, but the longer he was around them the more he wondered if they weren’t all just slightly insane.

Case in point – the dress.

Or, more specifically, _his_ dress. He didn’t wear them very often, because skirts were cumbersome and impractical for climbing. The conversation that resulted in him currently wearing one had been nothing short of baffling.

_Apparently_ humans had some bizarre rule that wedding attendants had to be the same gender as the one they were attending. Virgil had – in hindsight, a little bit presumptuously - assumed he was going to be Greta’s. When he’d mentioned it, Greta had been confused and Adelheid scandalized, heatedly informing him that Greta couldn’t have a man as her Maid of Honor.

Virgil had been equally as confused as Greta.

“I’m… not a man?” he said.

Adelheid had blinked at him, and Greta’s eyebrows had risen nearly to her hairline.

“…Oh,” said Adelheid.

She’d watched him warily for several seconds, and Virgil tried to recall ever having such a bizarre conversation in his life.

“Well, fine then,” she’d said, “But you will wear a proper dress, in that case,”

Virgil hadn’t understood until Greta had explained the gender issue to him later.

Frowning, Virgil shook his head.

“Well, that won’t work,” he grumbled, “I’m not any more a woman than I am a man,”

Greta gave him a long, searching look, but then she’d smiled.

“I think that’s fine,” she said softly, “You might have started with that. Sascha isn’t a girl, but it’s not quite a boy either. _Mutti_ might actually have been _less_ confused,”

“Oh?”

Greta nodded.

“Yes. I’ve never picked his brain about it, really. Maybe I can convince it to have a civil conversation with you on the subject,”

And that had been that. Virgil had to hurriedly alter one of his older dresses to fit him properly – it had been _way_ too short (another thing mortals were weird about – ankles) and now had a dark purple hem to make up the difference.

Adelheid shoved him toward the staircase when he arrived, and Virgil resisted the urge to grumble at the manhandling, knowing very well she’d be looking for any excuse to chastise him today.

“Who is it?” called Greta when he knocked on her door.

“Me,”

“Oh, come in then,” she said, and Virgil opened the door. She was in her chemise, which Virgil took a moment to be mildly confused by – she was normally weird about that unless they were swimming, but she didn’t seem bothered now.

Looking up from the scattered layers – and _layers,_ jeez that was a lot of clothes. Virgil had no idea she’d been wearing so many layers under her normal clothing – she tilted her head when she saw him before rolling her eyes.

“Of course,” she said.

“What?”

“If the men aren’t terrified of you they’re probably going to be swooning,” she said.

Virgil furrowed his brow, confused, and Greta just laughed.

“You look very pretty, _Bruderspinne,”_ she explained, “Now give me a minute and then help me get into this thing. It’s gorgeous, obviously, but the lacing is next to impossible by myself,”

She pulled a couple of petticoats over her head. Virgil felt awkward just standing there, so he came over to help her tie them on and she gave him a bright smile. There was something stiff on the bed as well that Virgil didn’t recognize, also with a lot of lacing.

“What’s that?”

“A torture device,” said Greta calmly, “ _Mutti_ can bitch all she wants, I don’t wear them normally and I’m not wearing one today. What if I need to run? Or climb something? Can’t do practically anything in a corset,”

They got everything but the dress itself on, and Virgil lifted it off the bed.

“Arms up,”

“I’m not an infant,” Greta muttered, but she obliged him.

Between the thick silk fabric, the lace, and the beads, the dress was heavy - but Greta didn’t buckle under the weight of it. Virgil had known she wouldn’t, but he’d still been anxious about it, seeing as it was June and he was already uncomfortably hot in his own layers.

But Greta never seemed to have a problem with the heat. She only mildly complained when Virgil pulled the ties tight, turning to look in the mirror.

Greta was quiet for a long minute, and Virgil started to fidget.

“You like it, right?” he said, immediately feeling silly – she’d said she did when he’d given it to her, and Greta _could_ lie, but she didn’t. Not to him.

“Yes, of course,” she said, smiling, “I just-”

She trailed off. Virgil poked her hard in the arm.

“What?”

Greta bit her lip.

“You don’t- you don’t think I look silly?”

“ _Silly?_ ” said Virgil incredulously.

“You know what I mean!” she huffed, “Like I look- like I’m playing dress-up in a rich girl’s clothes I stole,”

“No,” said Virgil, frowning, “Of course not. You look like you,”

Greta didn’t quite look convinced, watching herself in the mirror suspiciously.

“Come here,” said Virgil, “I’m doing your hair,”

Greta snorted.

“You know it never does what it’s supposed to, it’ll just come down in half an hour. I was going to leave it loose,”

“And get it windswept and frizzy?” said Virgil, “And it’ll do what it’s supposed to if I have anything to do with it,”

Shrugging, Greta pulled over her chair from the corner and sat in front of the bed.

“It’s your wasted time,” she said.

They fell silent, and Virgil gently gathered up Greta’s hair and took out his own comb, starting at the ends and working out the tangles.

Greta _radiated_ nerves. She was never quiet, not really – when she was it usually meant something was _really_ wrong, but Virgil couldn’t imagine what it could be. Greta had practically talked about nothing but _today_ for months – _now_ would be an exceedingly strange time for her to suddenly see sense, but if she had-

Starting a braid at her temple, Virgil kept his voice as light and non-threatening as possible.

“You can still change your mind, you know,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Greta, a little strangled.

“I mean it,” said Virgil, barely keeping the anxiety out of his voice, “You don’t have to worry about your mother, I’ll- wipe her memory or something. And Tobias isn’t an _idiot_ , not really, he won’t dare try and come after you-”

“ _Bruderspinne,_ ” said Greta tiredly.

“I _mean it,_ ” said Virgil, carefully not pulling her hair even though his hands had gone tense, “I’ll hide you in fairyland if I have to, Grettie-”

“I’m not getting _cold feet,_ you worrywart,” said Greta softly.

He waited, but she didn’t seem like she was going to continue.

“… Why are you scared?” said Virgil, “I don’t like it,”

Laughing, Greta shrugged.

Virgil tied off the end of the braid with a loop of silk, starting on the other side.

“… It will upset you,” she said quietly.

“Tell me anyway,”

Greta took a deep breath.

“ _Mutti_ seems to think getting married will make me… you know. Respectable. Calm me down,”

Virgil let out a low, irate hiss, far more inhuman and arachnid than he usually let himself make around Greta. She laughed hollowly.

“But I don’t feel any different,” she said, “I still just feel like me. Not- not a _wife,_ or. I don’t know. Just me,”

“That’s absurd,” said Virgil irritably.

“I’m not explaining it right-”

“I think you explained just fine,” scoffed Virgil, “And you’re being stupid,”

“Hey!”

“Don’t be stupid and I won’t call you stupid,” said Virgil, “Remember when I said Toby’s not _that_ much of an idiot?”

“You actually said he’s _not_ an idiot at all, which I will remember and _constantly_ remind you of until the day I die,”

“Whatever,” said Virgil, tying off the second braid and beginning to carefully wrap both of them around her crown, “The point is, Toby’s never courted anybody _but_ you- you’re his first and only choice, which is the smartest thing he’s ever done, by the way,”

“The point,”

“The _point,”_ said Virgil, “Is why the fuck would Toby marry you and then expect you to be different afterwards? He likes you. He has good taste, if nothing else,”

Greta made a little humming noise of acknowledgment, and Virgil started weaving a line of thread through the braids, fastening them tight.

“Are you- are you _sewing?_ ”

“Sort of,” said Virgil absently, “Hold still, brat, my hair hasn’t been long enough to do this on myself in decades - I’m rusty,”

Greta stilled, and Virgil got lost in the meditative weave and pull of the thread, pinching and tugging until the hairstyle laid the way he wanted it to, silver thread peaking out and glinting in the morning light streaming through the window.

“Alright,” said Virgil, “It’s done. If even you manage to undo this I’ll be genuinely impressed,”

Batting his hands away impatiently, Greta crossed over to the mirror, coming to a stop in front of it. Her eyebrows pinched, and her head tilted in a way that was endearingly reminiscent of Ritter.

“… Well?” said Virgil gruffly.

Greta gripped the fabric of the skirt, worrying it in her fists.

“… I look like a princess,” she said in a very small voice.

Instantly, a lump rose in Virgil’s throat. Laughing to cover up the fact that his eyes were stinging, he followed her to the mirror and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug.

For just a moment, Virgil let himself pretend.

She was warm, her skin and her smell, and her eyes were a dark, earthy brown – Greta could pass for a Summer, if you didn’t look at the strange roundness of her ears or the impossible to hide mortal clumsiness of her hands.

Or that she’d aged more in the handful of years Virgil had known her than he had in the whole of his own life, far longer than Greta had even been alive.

He’d been trying so hard not to think about it, trying to pretend the problem was just _Toby,_ but now, with her looking beautiful and bridal and _grown,_ about to be married even when Virgil could only look at her and see _little sister_ , see _fierce_ and _stubborn_ but still _small,_ it had become impossible to ignore.

She would never be fourteen again – she would never be smaller than _this,_ again. She would keep changing, no matter what, and Virgil could only hope it wouldn’t undo him in the end.

Kissing her temple, Virgil squeezed her tight enough to hide the shaking in his hands. Greta squawked in half-hearted protest, laughing and shoving at his face, and Virgil just huffed in amusement before letting her go and taking her hand instead.

“Come on, brat,” he said, “I didn’t put on a dress for nothing; if I don’t get to see Fischer faint I’ll be very disappointed,”

Later, when Greta came out the back door, Toby _didn’t_ faint – but he looked at Greta like he could count every star in the sky in her hair, and Virgil couldn’t actually manage to be disappointed.

—

Virgil hovered around the edges of the small crowd, alternating between avoiding the mortals as much as possible in the corner of the lawn and making tense loops around the yard and the house. He highly doubted any fae – or mortals, for that matter – would be stupid enough to try anything, but he hadn’t hidden a dozen knives in his skirt for nothing.

He turned the corner back into the backyard – and came face to face with Tobias.

Virgil scowled.

“What?”

Tobias put his hands up, stepping back.

“Um,”

He waffled, and Virgil’s scowl deepened.

“ _What?”_

“Sorry,” said Toby, “Uh- am I supposed to be calling ya, um, Miss Spider now?”

Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Can you not be weird and mortal about gender for like… five minutes?”

Tobias winced.

“Sorry,”

“What do you _want?”_

Tobias flinched again, but then he seemed to steal himself and stood up straight.

“I know you’re not, uh- one for socializing, but…”

He looked off into the crowd, and Virgil followed his gaze.

“Do you, um- think you could sit down?” said Toby, frowning.

“I’m guarding,” said Virgil.

“Right,” said Tobias, furrowing his brow, “Thing is… Mr. Spider, I think maybe you and Reta have- different ideas about what a Maid of Honor’s supposed to do,”

Virgil gave him a blank look.

Tobias took a steadying breath and gestured back to the long table where Greta was sitting, Tobias’s place beside her empty.

She was talking to her mother, who was standing over her, and scratching idly at Ritter next to her on the ground. Greta was scanning the crowd even as she spoke, frowning.

Virgil narrowed his eyes.

“… What do you mean?”

Tobias gestured wide.

“These are my guests,” he said quietly, “ _You’re_ hers,”

And just like that, Virgil understood - there were maybe three dozen guests, and it was painfully obvious that most of them were here for Toby. Greta had a wide radius around her, all of the people just polite enough to her not to offend, nodding and waving – Virgil was reminded abruptly of the lonely, wary deference of revels.

But nobody was stopping to chat. Greta had her parents and Toby here, Ritter and Virgil, and that was it.

And Virgil had left her alone.

All at once, he felt like an ass.

“… Oh,”

“We’re all very grateful for the guarding,” said Toby, “But- I think we’ll all survive an hour if you dance with your sister,”

Virgil raised an eyebrow at him.

“Most mortals wouldn’t be stupid enough to encourage fae to dance at their wedding,”

Toby smiled.

“Most mortals don’t marry witches with Unseelie for brothers,”

The corner of his mouth twitching, Virgil tried very hard not to smile.

“Fair enough,”

He didn’t say anything else, just left Tobias standing by the house and rolling his eyes at the nervous parting of the mortal crowd. Ritter perked up as he approached, and Greta and Adelheid turned to look – Adelheid wrinkled her nose, but Greta smiled, and there was enough relief in it that Virgil felt guilty all over again.

“Have we been beset by enemies?” she teased.

“No,” said Virgil, “May I borrow Greta, _Frau Baumgartner?_ ”

Adelheid outright bristled at the phrasing, but Greta snorted inelegantly and Virgil couldn’t regret it. Besides, he _could_ have said _steal_ \- and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t considered it. Greta might not even mind, as long as he brought her back.

“You may,” said Greta, rolling her eyes.

Virgil held out his hand politely and Greta gave him a mocking, over-exaggerated curtsy before taking it. Her mother huffed but said nothing, and Greta glanced at her out of the corner of her eye and got a sly expression on her face.

“I think,” she said, “That this music is boring,”

Adelheid narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Would you sing with me, _Bruderspinne?_ ” said Greta, deceptively innocent.

Agreeing without asking her to elaborate was probably a stupid idea, considering Virgil would almost _certainly_ get blamed for whatever mad-cap scheme Greta was hatching – but it had been years since Virgil had managed to deny Greta pretty much anything.

“Sure,” he said, shrugging, “Why not?”

Beaming, Greta dragged him into the yard, practically bouncing in her excitement and already opening her mouth, brassy and loud and cutting through the chatter of the crowd instantly.

“ _Oh_ , _Charlotte the harlot, the girl we adore; the pride of the prairie, the cowpuncher’s-”_

Over Virgil’s burst of slightly hysterical laughter and Adelheid’s horrified shriek, Greta kept singing, cheerful and unconcerned with the staring. Over her head, Virgil saw Toby – still standing where Virgil had left him - put his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Are you just gonna stand over there, Fischer?” Virgil called. Toby looked a little startled, but not as much as Virgil felt – he really hadn’t meant to address him.

Toby hesitated, but then he seemed to steal himself – he rushed across the lawn, grabbing his own sister on the way through the crowd. She was small and blonde, maybe twelve, paling obviously when Toby dragged her over, but Virgil gave her as non-threatening a smile as he could manage and she gave him a tremulous one back.

Toby gave her a little spin, and Greta elbowed Virgil insistently until he rolled his eyes and joined in her horribly inappropriate caterwauling.

Virgil had never been one for joining the circle at revels, but this one – even small and half-scared of him as it was – wasn’t actually all that bad.

And he had to admit – Toby’s face when Greta had imperiously switched places with him, shoving him at Virgil and spinning away with the little girl, had been downright _hilarious._


	2. Trudi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place about…let’s say 2 years after the previous chapter, and a hundred-odd years before the main storyline (what is a concrete timeline??? I don’t know her)
> 
> For a number of prompts about the godparent gift Virgil gave Trudi, all of which got eaten when the first draft of this was lost – I am very sorry for not tagging any of you!
> 
> Fun Fact time, this one courtesy of my beta [@trivia-goddess](trivia-goddess.tumblr.com) – modern wisdom is that it is actually not recommended to scream during childbirth, because it uses up energy you ought to be using for, well, the birth.

Yesterday Greta had dragged Virgil to the door, shoved him out, and told him to “come back when he calmed down.”

Virgil thought she was being just a little bit dramatic.

And she hadn’t kicked _Toby_ out, even though Toby was hovering _way_ worse than Virgil was, but of course when _Toby_ hovered it was “sweet” and “endearing” and not “Eve and all her daughters, _Bruderspinne_ , were you _in the cabinets?_ ”

Melodramatic. It wasn’t like he’d been _spying,_ he’d _announced_ he was in there as soon she’d come home.

Okay. So he _had_ spooked Tobias, but Toby could use a good startle every once in a while, in Virgil’s opinion.

Greta had not agreed.

Virgil didn’t like this. He didn’t like it _at all,_ but apparently mortals only had the one way to have children.

A needlessly risky, messy, and apparently very painful way to have children. Greta had been even less amused by how angry Virgil was with Tobias when he’d found out than she was about Virgil hovering the past few months.

Several times, Virgil had almost grabbed Tobias by the shirt and spat that if Greta died for this spawn of his, Virgil would kill him.

The only reason he hadn’t was because the only person who seemed just as anxious about the whole thing as Virgil _was_ Toby.

Greta, of course, was breezing about like she didn’t have a whole other person hitching a ride in her body, and refused to so much as pretend she was taking it easy. Because she was kind of insane and had no regard for her own safety most of the time.

_Thunk._

_Thunk._

_Thunk._

The last knife embedded itself in the tree stump on the other side of the clearing, Virgil’s frustration making it sink into the wood nearly to the hilt. Virgil threw himself back in the hammock with a groan, setting it swinging.

And if she did die? What then?

He’d seen fae die of broken hearts – never up close, and never gentry or Unseelie. Nymphs, sprites, the occasional Green Man. Virgil had always thought they were just fragile like that.

He was starting to wonder if he would be any better.

Virgil was well buried in his wallowing, but it would have been impossible for him to miss the howling _scream_ that broke through the afternoon air, no matter how distant it was.

Falling inelegantly over the side of the hammock, Virgil bolted across the clearing, yanking his knives from the stump and sprinting toward the sound.

Ritter nearly knocked Virgil over with the force of his tackle, though he’d thankfully stopped howling. He locked his jaws around the hem of Virgil’s shirt and yanked furiously, dragging him.

“Off- get _off_ Ritter, I’m _coming-_ I’ll follow you, just _move_ you stubborn mutt!”

Ritter didn’t make him ask again – he took off at a sprint, and Virgil bolted after him.

He didn’t lead Virgil toward the Fischer residence, and Virgil resisted the urge to groan in frustration when they broke through the treeline in the yard of Greta’s parents house.

Her father and Toby were sitting on the back porch – Toby was so pale he was almost gray, opening his arms the second he saw Ritter and burying his face in the thick scruff of his neck fur.

Virgil opened his mouth to make fun of him, and then inside the house, Greta screamed.

“We can’t go in,” said Toby wetly as Virgil stalked past him.

“Maybe _you_ can’t,” Virgil snarled.

He tried the knob, which was locked. He scowled and waved his hand, trying it again and pushing it open.

Adelheid was standing on the other side, arms crossed and a scowl on her face. Sascha was draped around her neck like a scarf and baring its tiny sharp teeth at him.

“No,” she said.

“Move, _please_ ,” said Virgil, in a tone that suggested whatever the opposite of please was.

“I will not have you getting under my feet,” she said bluntly, “You will stay out here, and you will not do _any_ magic that might interfere with mine, and you will be quiet and polite and keep my son-in-law from fainting, or I will hex you, _Herr Spinne,_ Lord of the Forest be damned,”

Virgil scowled.

But it was her house – no matter that it had _his_ sister in it.

Virgil stepped back.

Her frown only deepened, and Sascha chirped something Virgil suspected wasn’t very polite, and then Adelheid slammed the door in his face.

Resisting the urge to growl, Virgil turned and stalked back toward Tobias, shaking him.

“Start talking,” he said, “What happened? I leave you alone for _one day-_ ”

Toby shrugged helplessly.

“She woke up in the middle of the night,” he croaked, “Said she couldn’t get back t’sleep. She was- was testy all morning, and I tried to rub her shoulders, and-”

He cut off abruptly, and Ritter whined pitifully, licking Toby’s cheek.

“Oh, s’okay,” soothed Toby, “I know ya didn’t mean it,”

“Didn’t mean what?”

Toby grimaced, holding out his arm.

Virgil couldn’t help the wince.

“Ritter _bit_ you?”

“He didn’t mean it!” insisted Toby, scratching Ritter behind the ears.

“Fucking idiot,” Virgil muttered, grabbing Toby’s arm and ignoring his protest, “Gonna get an infection and keel over,”

“Will not,” said Toby, uncharacteristically deadpan, “If I die Reta’ll kill me,”

Virgil didn’t laugh, but it was a near thing.

Toby wrinkled his nose in discomfort as Virgil flicked the arc of puncture wounds clean. He was still a little stunned Ritter had done it. The very first time Ritter met Toby he’d rolled right over at his feet, and Virgil had never seen him be anything but effusively, _slobberingly_ affectionate to Toby.

Another ear-splitting shriek rang out, and Virgil dropped Toby’s arm instantly, white-knuckling his fists. Flinching, Toby pressed his face back into Ritter’s fur.

“Then?” snapped Virgil.

Toby’s breath turned a little unsteady.

“She just-” he gasped, strangled, “She just started _screaming,_ I don’t know- know what happened. She was fine and then she _wasn’t-”_

He rocked a little, and Ritter was licking the side of his face but Toby didn’t seem to care. He just dropped kisses all over the top of Ritter’s dark head.

Virgil tamped down the instinct to reach out.

“Calm down,” he said, quiet and gruff, “If you pass out and leave me alone with Linus I’ll be very unhappy with you,”

Laughing wetly, Toby nodded, his face still hidden.

It felt like days they sat there (One hour, seventeen minutes, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven seconds-) listening as the shouts got closer together. At some point Toby had slid off the porch steps and sat on the ground, Ritter draped over him like a large, furry lap blanket.

The new, unfamiliar cry startled Virgil, and the first thing he registered was that he’d worn one side of his sleeves nearly to threads with his fidgeting.

The second voice was small and high and not a decibel quieter than Greta’s, displeased and clearly trying to make sure everyone knew it. Greta’s trailed off, and Virgil could hear faint, excited conversation picking up even as the kid continued to scream.

More restless waiting (fourteen minutes, four, five seconds) and then Tobias’s little sister burst out the door, blonde hair disheveled and smiling brightly.

Nessa gave Virgil a little nervous wave, and he rolled his eyes, waving back.

She cleared her throat, turning to Toby.

“Reta said,” she began, “That if you aren’t in arms reach in the next ninety seconds she’s going to divorce you,”

“Greta’s lying through her teeth,” said Virgil dryly, but Tobias apparently wasn’t willing to risk it, because he scrambled to his feet and rushed inside, Ritter following close behind.

Linus followed as well, and Virgil got to his feet – he was pretty sure Adelheid wasn’t going to be happy, but he really did not care.

“Um-!”

Virgil raised a brow at Nessa, who was holding one hand up and looking sheepish.

“Uh-”

Virgil frowned.

“What?” he said, when she didn’t seem like she was going to continue.

She grimaced, holding up a finger, and then stepped back into the open door and grabbed something off the upper mantle.

An iron horseshoe, and Virgil scowled.

“Don’t, um-”

She smiled sheepishly.

“Don’t tell Mrs. Baumgartener it was me who took it down?” she said conspiratorially.

The scowl softened into something exasperated.

“Sure, kid,” he said, ruffling her hair as he moved past.

When Virgil made it to the upstairs bedroom, Adelheid looked like she swallowed a whole bowl of lemons, but she didn’t try to throw Virgil out again.

“Afternoon, _Bruderspinne_ ,” said Greta, her voice hoarse and her eyes closed. Toby was holding a bundle of blankets next to her, but Virgil was more concerned with Greta.

“You look terrible,” he said.

Greta flipped him off, and Adelheid made a displeased noise behind him.

“Are you going to insult me or are you going to meet the baby?” she deadpanned.

Virgil grimaced, but he moved around the bed and peered over Toby’s shoulder.

It… didn’t really look anything like a human, to be honest. More like a red, wrinkly goblin, no longer screaming but still making some unhappy snuffling noises.

“She doesn’t bite,” said Greta, amused.

“She doesn’t have teeth,” Virgil replied, “Even if she did I wouldn’t be worried,”

He turned back to Greta, who was watching him with an unreadable expression, but after a moment she just gave him a tired smile.

Virgil sat down on the edge of the bed, placed his hand over her wrist to feel the firm _thump_ of her pulse, and tried to relax.

—

Greta dealt with her mother trying to keep her from going home the way she dealt with everything she deemed ‘in her way’ – by trampling it like a stampede of runaway horses.

Virgil helped her into the house while Toby bounced around the living room cooing and generally acting like a fool, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Greta watching him all soft and besotted.

Greta and Tobias passed the kid back and forth, equally taken with the weird little creature. Virgil thought it was a bit odd, but then again he’d never so much as seen a baby from this close, so what did he know?

About a half an hour passed, and then suddenly Greta stood from her chair with a huff.

“Alright,” she said, “I can’t stand it, I need to actually bathe. Toby, come help me,”

She cooed at the infant, who she had just finished getting to throw up, which seemed unnecessarily disgusting. There was a small crib in the corner, and Virgil had just enough time to wonder why Greta was moving _away_ from it, and then she plopped the baby into his arms.

Virgil made a very undignified noise, freezing as Greta manipulated his arms into a sort of scoop shape and adjusted the kid, before standing up straight and smiling, looking very pleased with herself.

“Trudi,” she said, “This is _Bruderspinne_. Watch him for a little while, won’t you?”

Virgil didn’t shout, but it was a close thing.

A hook – a little tug, like she’d pulled on his hand, but it had only been her voice.

_This is Bruderspinne._

Virgil tried not to panic. If he dropped her kid Virgil was sure Greta would kill him.

But it wasn’t every day your true name changed – Virgil figured he had something of a right to _freak the fuck out._

He answered to it, of course, he had for years. But there was a big difference between something you were called and something you _were._ Virgil had been the same thing, unchanging, for centuries, since the day he woke up in the hollow of the witch-hazel.

And now, he wasn’t. Or he was – just something else, too.

Virgil knew he answered whatever question Greta asked him as she and Toby left the house – Toby didn’t look excited about getting in the river this early in the summer, but Virgil doubted he’d deny Greta anything right now – but he couldn’t have repeated whatever he said, or the question.

They left, and Virgil was alone with the tiny mortal.

She was warm, though not so warm as Greta. She wrinkled her nose, her impossibly small fingers grasping at nothing.

“Hello, Trudi Fischer,” said Virgil.

She squawked.

Virgil’s mouth quirked up.

“When will you talk, I wonder?” he muttered, “I’ve never been around an infant, I don’t know how normal you are,”

She squawked again, and then she opened her eyes and blinked up at him.

Virgil had always regarded Tobias’s eyes as a relatively unremarkable shade of blue. Frankly, he probably wouldn’t have known what color Tobias’s eyes _were_ , if Greta didn’t sigh about it so often.

But in _this_ face – this tiny, pink little person, already with stray locks of coal-black hair curling over her forehead and around her small, round ears – in this face they were a bright, shimmering cobalt, tiny gemstones set in a perfect face.

There was a sudden lump in his throat.

He _loved_ her. Oh, she was perfect. Perfect and beautiful and Virgil could have gone back in time to the start of the day and smacked himself in the head for overlooking just how wonderful she was for even a _moment_ let alone several hours.

“ _Trudi,_ ” he cooed, barely recognizing his own voice, “Oh, Trudi, Trudi, _hello_. You’re so sweet, look at you,”

That spot in the core of him where _Bruderspinne_ was now etched was trembling with a familiar want. Virgil _had_ to give her something. And it was probably going to be ostentatious, but surely this fell under “acceptable gift-giving occasions” in Greta’s estimation? She was always so twitchy about gifts but this- this had to be okay.

Virgil spent the next half hour marveling over Trudi’s down-soft hair and her pinhead-sized fingernails, and by the time the front door opened his face was starting to feel sore from smiling.

“Oh, good,” said Greta, “Thank you for watching _Bruderspinne_ , Trudi,”

Virgil laughed, letting Greta take Trudi back with only a little bit of a pang in his heart.

—

Greta had said no.

Virgil had done his best to pretend it hadn’t gutted him.

It became an itch under his skin, constantly, but- but Greta always looked so _distressed_ when he brought up gifts, and Virgil didn’t want to _force_ her to take them but he couldn’t seem to get her to explain what the problem was.

Did she not like them? Did she not _trust_ him to give her gifts that were safe for mortals, or- not trust him with _Trudi?_

It was outright maddening.

But he didn’t want to _guilt_ her into taking them, so he didn’t say anything about the itch. Trudi was so tiny and frail, so _breakable_ \- Virgil was practically going insane at how defenseless she was and the desire to fix it at all costs.

He thought idly, just a few times, that he wished he knew how to change Greta’s mind. For years afterwards, Virgil would wonder if maybe the wish accidentally _hadn’t_ been so idle, and try desperately not to think if he’d somehow caused what happened next.

Virgil stepped onto the front lawn, and Toby was sitting on the porch steps. Virgil couldn’t see his face, but there was an anguish writ in every inch of him, obvious even from this distance and in the dimming light of the evening. Virgil’s blood turned hot with panic, and he was across the lawn in less than a second.

 _“What happened?”_ he snarled.

Tobias didn’t even move.

“ _Answer me,_ Fischer, damn it-”

“It’s Trudi,” he said miserably.

“ _ **What about Trudi?**_ ”

Toby looked up, his face swollen and red and tacky with tears, but his expression was flat and impassive.

“We woke up this morning,” he said quietly, “And she was… blue. We panicked, and we took her in town to the doctor'n-”

He swallowed firmly, closing his eyes.

“I didn’t really… understand?” he said, strangled, “What the man was saying, but- there’s something wrong her- her heart,”

“Something, what something?”

Toby shrugged helplessly.

“Tell me something _useful_ , you fucking-”

“There’s nothing he can do about it,” said Toby, cutting him off, “He said it’ll fix itself as she gets older or…”

He trailed off.

“Or _**what?**_ ”

“Or she’ll die,” said Toby quietly.

Virgil’s heartbeat was roaring in his ears, his vision just barely turning black at the edges. Clenching his fists, he ignored it, shaking with fury.

“No,” he snarled, “She _**will not,**_ ”

Stalking passed Toby, Virgil threw open the front door so violently it cracked sharply against the wall. The sound set Trudi off, and Virgil followed her cries into Greta’s room.

Greta was sitting on the floor in the corner, holding Trudi, rocking gently with tears streaming down her face, Ritter sitting morosely next to her with his nose in Trudi’s blankets. The sight sent a lance of pain through Virgil’s chest, and he crossed the room to kneel beside her, ignoring the sound of Toby entering behind him. Greta didn’t look up.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Greta’s voice came out on a cracked, wordless sob.

“ _Grettie,_ ” said Virgil, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice.

She finally looked up, and Virgil had never seen her so undone. Trudi was quieting from her startle, but Greta’s sobs only redoubled, her face anguished.

“Grettie,” begged Virgil, “Please. _Please_ hand me Trudi,”

She didn’t even hesitate.

Virgil lifted Trudi out of her outstretched arms, cooing softly. Trudi blinked up at him, curious but obviously distressed. She was only a few months old, barely babbling and certainly not talking – she didn’t know why everyone was upset, but she could clearly tell they were.

Instead of pushing it down, Virgil focused on that itch. He made soothing noises as he laid his hand on Trudi’s chest. She squirmed at the coolness, but she was used to his skin by now.

Virgil could tell the difference between Trudi’s and Greta’s, now that he was paying attention. A strange, liquid _whoosh_ in Trudi’s heartbeat, like a tide coming in and flowing out.

Born with a broken heart – it might be an omen, or poetic, but all Virgil could manage to feel about it was _bitter._

This was old, old magic. Older than him, by far. And what Virgil was doing wasn’t exactly a parlor trick.

He thought the words over carefully, considering them from every angle. Neither Toby nor Greta spoke, and Trudi continued to squirm curiously, Virgil’s hand on her chest dwarfing her small body.

“… I give you this,” he said, and Greta visibly shuddered as the temperature of the room dropped several degrees, “A good and strong heart, that will serve you well for your whole life,”

It happened so quickly even Virgil didn’t actually see it, though he certainly _felt_ the sudden dizziness that overwhelmed him the same second – between one blink and the next, a shiny, pitch-black hand print pressed itself into Trudi’s chest, and she instantly started screaming.

Passing her hurriedly back to Greta, Virgil caught himself on his hands, before giving up even a semblance of composure and laying down on the floor, his face pressed to the cool wood.

Alternating between desperately shushing Trudi and increasingly hysterical shouting at Virgil, Greta freed one hand to tap his shoulder, yank a lock of his hair, flick him in the ear - Ritter nosed, cold and wet, at Virgil’s hair.  
“ _Bruderspinne,_ are you alright? Shh, it’s okay, Trudi, little miss, it’s okay- _Bruderspinne_ , get _up, are you alright?”_

“Hush,” said Virgil, smacking her knee clumsily with the back of his hand, “I just… need a nap,”

“I’ve never seen you _faint_ after doing magic-”

“I didn’t _faint,_ ” said Virgil gruffly, “I got _ever so slightly_ dizzy. Please calm down,”

He kept his eyes closed, even when Toby came closer and also started murmuring to Trudi. Between the two of them, they managed to calm her down, and Virgil tried to tamp down the guilt that he’d hurt her so bad.

Greta gently tucked her hand under his head, lifting. Virgil made a disgruntled noise but didn’t fight her, and something soft was pushed beneath his temple.

“There y’go,” muttered Toby. Virgil bit his tongue against the automatic urge to snap at him – that would be pettier than was really reasonable, when Toby had obviously brought the pillow over.

Virgil began to drift a little, and then slipped under the shadow of sleep.

—

When Virgil woke up, he’d been moved to the bed – and wasn’t _that_ alarming, that they’d touched and _moved_ him in his sleep and he hadn’t stirred? Virgil couldn’t remember ever sleeping so deeply.

Groggy, he made his way out of Greta and Toby’s room. Sitting in the rocking chair with Trudi in his grasp, Toby looked up, smiling when he saw Virgil, and Ritter perked up from his spot by Toby’s feet and started cheerfully wagging his tail.

“Morning,” he said quietly.

“It’s dark out,” said Virgil.

Toby wrinkled his forehead.

“Spose it is,” he said, “I think, uh- ya just say that when folks wake up, regardless,”

“Trudi?” pressed Virgil.

Toby gestured him over.

He must have been too excited (or possibly tired – how long had Virgil been asleep?) to remember that Virgil could eviscerate him without breaking a sweat, because as soon as Virgil was close enough Toby grabbed his hand, placing it on Trudi’s chest.

The soft _whooshing_ was gone. Her heart _thumpthumped_ merrily in her chest, a tiny echo of her parents. Maybe a little slow, but Virgil couldn’t be sure, and _his_ was so much slower than Greta’s he certainly wouldn’t know if Trudi’s was abnormal.

Pulling his hand free, Virgil ran his knuckles across Trudi’s crown. It wasn’t a gift he would have thought of on his own – a good heart could honestly get you _into_ a decent amount of trouble, as well as help you.

Too selfless. Too kind. Too _trusting._

So, in the end, maybe it was good that Greta had pushed him away at first. Virgil still could have helped, but the first gift of a Godparent changed you right down to your core – this way it was unbreakable.

“Thank you, Brother Spider,”

Virgil just barely didn’t flinch, narrowing his eyes at Toby. Toby’s gaze was lowered, looking at Trudi and shining with adoration.

Well. Alright, then. Virgil could recognize gratitude when he heard it, and he wasn’t actually _heartless._

Impulsively, he ruffled Toby’s hair, not waiting to see his reaction before he left the room.

It was like Greta had switched places with the Toby of hours earlier. She sat on the steps, her head hanging low, perfectly still.

“Grettie?”

She sniffed.

“Hello, _Bruderspinne_ ,”

There was something hollow in her voice – hollow and… old. She sounded like she’d aged a decade in a day, which made Virgil’s throat tighten with panic.

Sitting next to her, Virgil bumped her shoulder.

“Trudi’s fine,” he assured her.

“Yes,” she said, “I know. Thank you,”

So why did she still sound so _miserable?_

“What’s _wrong?_ ” pleaded Virgil, “Please tell me. I can fix it,”

Gritting her teeth, Greta clenched her fist in her skirt.

“You don’t have to fix _anything,_ ” she snapped.

Flinching, Virgil tried to hide the hurt that instantly wanted to show on his face.

“You owe me _nothing,_ ” said Greta wetly, “Not ever. If you move in and eat me out of house and home and then burn the house down for good measure you will _still_ owe me nothing. I will not accept _payment_ for loving you,”

Flabbergasted, Virgil moved to speak and ask her what the _hell_ she was talking about, but she wasn’t done.

“And I can’t- I _can’t_ apologize for asking you to do this,” she said, apparently conveniently for forgetting Virgil had all but demanded she hand over her daughter, “Not for Trudi. But even if you _did_ owe me, you _have_ to understand that you’ve paid any debt a hundred times over. That’s _enough_ , _Bruderspinne._ No more,”

Virgil stared.

“Are you- are you talking about my _gifts_ right now?”

She gave him an unamused look.

“Yes, the _gifts,”_ she said, soundly oddly sarcastic, _“_ Obviously,”

Staring at her, Virgil tried to process that.

Payment. _Paying_ her. He was almost insulted – but then again, that made sense, didn’t it? If someone tried to pay _him_ to follow them around like a servant he’d be furious.

 _How_ she’d arrived at such a bizarre conclusion Virgil couldn’t begin to comprehend – it wasn’t like any fae in the forest was stupid enough to make a deal with Greta, there was no way she had experience with the more strings-attached kind of gift – but the conclusion did at least explain her unfathomable behavior every time Virgil tried to give her so much as a trinket.

Virgil wasn’t quite sure how to explain the difference – it was so instinctive to him, the feelings involved not even in the same plane of existence, but he was fumbling for words in a human language she would understand.

And she looked so _tired._ Virgil didn’t want to _leave_ the conversation here, but the thought of walking her through a looping lesson in faerie court culture right now seemed almost cruel.

“Okay,” he said quietly, “No paying,”

Her shoulders relaxed. Virgil reached over and patted her hand.

“One thing, though,” he said.

She frowned but Virgil elbowed her with a grin.

“Calm down. It’s not a payment, I said that,”

It was a gift though, but Virgil wasn’t going to offer that up. And really, it was more of a promise, anyway.

“Mostly,” he said, voice shaking, “It’s an overdue introduction,”

Greta froze for a solid five seconds, and then she turned to gape at him.

“…Okay?” he asked.

Another long, nerve-wracking pause, and Greta turned her hand over in Virgil’s and nodded.

“Okay,” she said, quiet and strained, “It- it would be nice to properly meet you, _Bruderspinne,”_

Squeezing her hand and smiling when she returned it with an outright death grip, Virgil swallowed around his anxiety and took a deep, steadying breath.

He’d never actually done this before – he knew it would be daunting, but he hadn’t expected to feel dizzy all over again, twice in one day.

“I’m Virgil,” he croaked.

Greta took a sharp inhale, and Virgil steadied himself enough to continue.

“…Spider Prince of the Winter Court, Lord of the Forest, Bruderspinne,”

“ _Oh,”_ sobbed Greta, the second the last word left his mouth, her eyes spilling over.

“Yeah, oh,” he laughed thickly.

“What- when on _earth-_ ”

“When you introduced me to Trudi,” said Virgil, quivering, “So you know, you’re- you are, kind of, genuinely stuck with me now-”

Throwing her arms around him, Greta buried a cracked sob in his neck, and Virgil just squeezed her back as tight as he dared.

“Don’t be stupid, Virgil,” she choked, and Virgil pressed his face into her hair to stave off the sudden press of tears in his eyes.

“As if we would ever let you _leave,_ ”


	3. Patton, Logan, Roman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Plus one more gift.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place a scant few weeks after the main story
> 
> and thank you to my friend Vivi ([@trivia-goddess](trivia-goddess.tumblr.com)) for beta-reading! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

The jewelry was like a handful of lead weights in Virgil’s pockets.

He’d spent days arguing with himself over it, going back and forth, alternating between carrying them around and hiding them in increasingly out of the way places in his room where he thought Patton wouldn’t come across them. A few times he’d convinced himself it was a terrible idea, resolved to get rid of them at the earliest convenience, and then twenty minutes later dug them back out again in a fit of panic.

He’d lost everything once. The idea of doing it again, of failing to protect them for even a moment and waking up to even more crushing loneliness than the first time was enough to set his heart to a thrumming, dizzying pulse in his throat.

But at this rate, he was never going to even muster up the courage to _offer_ the charms anyway.

Besides, thought Virgil, with a sort of faint, not-quite-bitter ache in his chest – they might say no, and then it wouldn’t matter at all. Virgil had learned his lesson – he wouldn’t push anybody again.

Roman was a warm, wonderful weight on Virgil’s chest, Logan resting his head on Virgil’s shoulder and Patton cuddled half on Logan and half on Virgil. It was a lovely way to spend a spring afternoon, and Virgil was just a little irritated with himself for wasting headspace worrying.

Logan reached around Patton to grasp blindly for Roman’s hand, and their fingers linked. They let their clasped hands fall, and they came to rest directly over Virgil’s pocket.

Virgil couldn’t help it – he froze.

Roman went immediately tense in his arms – Logan and Patton also stilled, though not quite so obviously.

“… Remind me to never let you play poker,” said Roman quietly. He sounded like he was trying to make a joke, but it was a little too strained, and Virgil didn’t understand the context anyway.

“Honey, are you alright?” said Patton softly.

Well – he probably wasn’t going to get a better transition than this. Might as well get it out of the way.

“Can we sit up?” he said, quiet.

Gingerly climbing off him, Roman settled upright next to Virgil, and Patton and Logan followed. They all watched him patiently, and Virgil tried not to fidget as he sat in between the three of them.

He was quiet too long, and Patton’s eyebrows were starting to pinch in worry. He opened his mouth, probably to ask if Virgil was alright again, and Virgil jammed his hand in his pocket and pulled out the glittering charms.

“I… I made. All of you, some- things,”

Patton startled a little – Logan just looked curious, leaning over to look at Virgil’s hands.

Roman had gone utterly, terrifyingly still.

“Oh,” said Patton, clearly confused, “Well- that’s sure sweet of you, sweetie,”

Logan snorted, but Roman still hadn’t moved. Virgil swallowed - there was hope blooming in his chest, but he was still unable to look at any of them directly. He separated the three pieces of jewelry in his palm.

“They’re magic,” he said quietly, “They would- connect you to me, like a web. I’d know when you’re afraid, or hurt, and I would be able to… find you, and come help,”

“Oh, _honey!_ ” said Patton, pressing his hand to his chest, and Virgil finally managed to look up just in time to see a smile as bright as the sun stretch across his face, “That’s- honey, that’s so sweet! Thank you so much!”

“…Yeah?” croaked Virgil.

“Yes, definitely!” said Patton, nodding rapidly, “Can I – would you put mine on me?”

A lump rose in Virgil’s throat, but he nodded just as enthusiastically. He set the other two on his knee, pulling the gold chain with the circular charm loose and leaning forward to fasten it around Patton’s neck.

Patton waited patiently, and then just as Virgil pulled his hands away swooped in to peck him on the lips. Virgil felt his neck flush, and Patton grinned at him.

“Thank you again, honey,” he said sweetly. Virgil was starting to feel a little feverish.

Logan leaned over again when they separated, peering down at the jewelry.

“You made these?” he said softly.

Virgil nodded.

Logan smiled.

“They’re lovely, dear,” he said, “Would you also put mine on me?”

They were so _calm._ It was- it was almost overwhelming. Virgil’s heartbeat felt like it was _visible_ , in his throat, in the pulse of his wrists. He lifted the silver necklace with the rounded, rectangular charm, and fastened it around Logan’s neck.

“Thank you,” said Logan, grabbing Virgil’s hand out of the air and squeezing, “For the gift and the assistance,”

“You’re welcome,” said Virgil, a little strangled.

And then Virgil realized that Roman still hadn’t said anything at all, or moved, and that thick lump in his throat grew sticky and cloying.

Turning, Virgil tried to smile, and failed miserably the second he saw Roman’s face.

Because _Roman_ was smiling, but there was no softness in it, no joy – he was several shades too pale and still as stone.

He had his wrist held out, waiting.

“Thank you,” he said placidly.

Swallowing, Virgil did manage a smile the second time, trying for soothing.

“No,” he said quietly, “It’s… it’s okay, Roman,”

And it was. Virgil _had_ learned his lesson. There was no hiding the sheer terror in every inch of Roman’s posture. He didn’t want it, and Virgil wouldn’t make him take it, no matter how cracked and brittle his heart felt in his chest.

Roman didn’t move, but the barest touch of confusion colored his picture-perfect smile.

“What’s okay?”

Virgil covered the bracelet with his hand, hiding it from view, and Roman relaxed almost imperceptibly, though he didn’t put his offered hand down.

“You don’t have to take it,” said Virgil gently, “I can tell you don’t want to. So- so it’s okay,”

Palming the bracelet, Virgil moved to put it back in his pocket. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with it – he didn’t think he could bear to destroy it, but somehow the thought of putting it away somewhere where it would collect dust, rejected, made his stomach turn.

Roman lunged, grabbing Virgil’s wrist so tightly it would have been painful if he’d been human. Confused, Virgil looked back at him, startling.

Roman’s expression was almost indescribable – his eyes had gone slightly wild, and he was shaking now instead of worryingly still, staring intently at Virgil.

“I-”

Roman’s voice was strained, and Virgil laid his free hand on Roman’s, face pinching in worry.

“Roman?”

“I do want it,” blurted Roman, strangled.

Virgil frowned, but Roman plowed forward.

“I didn’t,” he said, sending a painful lance of rejection through Virgil’s chest, “But- but I do now,”

Virgil’s frown deepened.

“… I don’t understand,”

Roman smiled, and it was a little manic-looking, but it did, at least seem genuine.

“I didn’t want it,” he said, “Because- because it didn’t, really, um- occur to me, that I could say no? But then, you said I _could_ , say no, and now I- I don’t want to. Say no. Anymore,”

He swallowed, laughing a little.

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head, “That doesn’t really- that doesn’t make any sense at all outside of my head, does it? I just- I was, kind of afraid, but then you gave me the option, and I felt like- like it was safe-”

Virgil inhaled sharply.

“-To take it, and say yes,”

“That’s what I want,” said Virgil, a little breathless, slipping his fingers into Roman’s and squeezing, “I want you to feel safe. _Be_ safe. That’s why- that’s what they’re for. To protect you,”

Laughing wetly, Roman leaned over to press one, two, three warm kisses to Virgil’s mouth, each one longer than the last, before pressing their foreheads together.

“I love it,” said Roman, “Truly. Put it on me?”

Virgil _almost_ couldn’t bring himself to let go of Roman to do so, but he managed.

Roman ran his thumb across the beads when Virgil had it in place, humming.

“This- the beads, are they-?”

“From the casket,” said Virgil, taking Roman’s hand again, “It kept _me_ safe, and then- you saved me. It seemed fitting,”

“ _God,_ how do you just- how are you even _real-_ ”

Virgil… wasn’t really sure how to respond to that, but luckily Roman didn’t seem to be looking for a response. Cupping Virgil’s face in his hands, the bracelet brushing against Virgil’s jaw and sending a thrill of delight up his spine, Roman kissed his mouth one more time and then switched to repeated, enthusiastic pecks all over Virgil’s face.

Virgil let out a series of strangled, mortified noises, flushing from the affection and Patton’s cooing and Logan leaning over to press what he probably thought was a surreptitious nuzzle to Virgil’s shoulder.

“Too sweet!” squealed Patton, leaning over to join Roman in the rain of kisses, “Too, too, sweet, too cute, illegal _-_ ”

“ _Illegal?”_ sputtered Virgil incredulously.

“It’s a figure of speech, dear,” said Logan, amused.

Catching Virgil’s hand, he squeezed it, watching the three of them with a soft, fond expression and absently running his other thumb over the charm of his necklace.

Virgil reached out in his mind, feeling the _flickpull_ of the three threads now connecting them to him, and something in his chest finally unfurled and relaxed.

—

_Coda: Virgil_

“Well, when it rains it pours,” muttered Roman.

“Not necessarily,” said Logan, “But yes, I do believe ‘pouring’ is an accurate descriptor for the current weather pattern,”

Humming, Virgil tried to hide the wary look he was giving the windows of the car.

He knew it was rain. Water, hardly anything to be nervous about.

But the deluge was making the windows nearly opaque, except for the very front one, which Virgil couldn’t see very well around the seats and Patton and Roman’s heads. Roman’s car wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t exactly _huge,_ and Virgil was starting to feel just a touch…

What had Logan called it, Virgil thought wryly, the first time Virgil had gone into a closet to retrieve something and immediately flipped out? Close-to-something. Virgil probably should have paid more attention.

“Hey, Happy Weather After,” said Roman, reaching back with one hand and tapping Logan on the knee, “Do you know how long it’s gonna be like this?”

“Approximately three hours,” said Logan, wincing, “With the heaviest rainfall occurring-”

A brief pause.

“About forty-five minutes from now, though it will not get any lighter than this until close to the two hour mark,”

“Damn,” grumbled Roman, “Okay, quick emergency detour,”

He took a turn suddenly that made Virgil’s stomach lurch and Logan let out a series of rapid, mumbled complaints about this being the reason Patton always drove as he grabbed one of the little overhead handles. This triggered a half-hearted argument between them that involved a lot of indignant scoffing on Roman’s part and a lot of “The _road,_ Roman!” on Logan’s. Patton seemed unconcerned.

Roman pulled into a parking spot, turning in his seat.

“Okay, this will go faster with more people, but unfortunately I think if you come in there’ll be a stampede for the door,” he said, smiling sheepishly at Virgil, “Do you think you could wait here?”

Virgil was _not_ very excited about the idea of waiting in a confined space by himself, but he was… _mostly_ sure he wouldn’t actually lose it completely. He nodded, and Roman smiled and leaned back to kiss Virgil on the cheek before all three of them climbed out of the car.

Virgil didn’t look at the windows, instead twisting the rings on his fingers and sliding them up and down. They weren’t gone long, but Virgil was very glad when the door opened back up because his heartbeat had begun to sound uncomfortably loud, and he’d started wishing he’d actually asked them what they were doing.

Patton’s hair had gone frizzy with the moisture, and Roman was making disgruntled noises like a wet cat – only Logan seemed unbothered, and he was holding something in his hands that was shiny, almost reflective, and an intense, eye-searing purple.

Roman and Patton turned in the front seats to look at both of them, smiling.

“Okay,” said Patton, “I know it’s um, a little flashy-”

“We can get you a better one later,” cut in Roman, and Virgil’s heart leapt into his throat.

“We know you hate when your clothes are wet,” said Logan, placing a hand on Virgil’s forearm, “This is designed to repel water instead of absorb it, and I’m almost certain its long enough,”

He held out the object in his hand.

“… What?” said Virgil, a little strangled.

“It’s a raincoat,” said Patton, “Sorry, I should have started with that. To keep you dry. It’s lined, too, so the plastic won’t touch your skin,”

Virgil reached for the garment without really thinking about it, lifting it from Logan’s grip. The color reminded him of the brightest of his sisters, and the inside was a soft fabric with a pattern of purple, blue, and red lines in various overlapping squares and shades.

Logan was picking nervously at his jeans.

“It is understandable if you don’t like it,” he said sheepishly, “It is not… within your usual aesthetic, but we thought-”

“I _love_ it,” said Virgil.

All three of them startled.

“Uh- you do?” said Roman incredulously.

Virgil looked back at him, just as befuddled.

“Of _course,”_

Virgil couldn’t imagine how they’d thought he wouldn’t – wet clothes were annoying and uncomfortable and _really_ unpleasant, but they wouldn’t kill him.

But the three of them, apparently, couldn’t abide by even that – the _first_ thing they’d done was detour exclusively to try and make Virgil more comfortable, by the first means available to them. More than that, they’d thought he wouldn’t _like_ it, and yet risked offering it anyway rather than let him suffer through the discomfort, no matter how minor.

The space in the backseat was limited, but Virgil managed to wrestle his way into the coat. He ran his fingers across the stiff outer material, the warm cloth inside, the smooth buttons and the little black ropes sticking out of the hood.

“You like it,” said Roman flatly.

“I said that!” laughed Virgil, and Roman’s eyes went a little round, face flushing. Virgil swooped forward to kiss his cheek, grinning, and Roman’s blush deepened.

Turning his head to kiss Patton’s cheek and smiling even wider when Patton also turned pink, Virgil moved last toward Logan and pressed one to his forehead, sure he looked ridiculous with how wide he was smiling and unable to care at all.

Logan was outright crimson, smiling shyly.

“I’m- glad, that’s- that’s good,” he stumbled, and Virgil just beamed at him, too overwhelmed with delight to do anything but give them all hopelessly besotted looks.

“I appreciate it,” he said, feeling downright giddy.

Hiding a giggle behind his hand, Patton squirmed happily in the front seat, and Roman’s expression was fading from bemused to fond.

“Glad you like it,” he said quietly.

Impulsively, Virgil kissed him again, firmer and still smiling, and Roman let out a huff of laughter before kissing him back.

And then the other two leaned in, and as they all four sat in the car, trading sweet pecks back and forth with the outside world blinded with rain, Virgil couldn’t have been more content.

**Author's Note:**

> you can also find me over on [tumblr!](tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors.tumblr.com)


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